A long list of social engagements...

Thursday night:
Massage from Kirsty. She let out a most profane word when her healing hands touched my cramped calf muscle. Something along the lines of "F*&£$K! Nick! What HAVE you done?" It took her most of the hour to ease off the knots in that one muscle.
Then we went to dinner at the Roseleaf, as reccomended by Kevin Rutherford. Good food, fantastic service, and the seal of approval for any restaurant - Mr Snax (or Curry King Cowie) in the corner table having a drink with Jim Galbreath. Mr Snax knows his food.

Friday:
I was still fighting a cold, and with my muscles in their post-massage recuperative state I ignored my Friday run. I've yet to enjoy a good jog around my old hometown of Leith, hopefully this week it will happen.
After a full day of work I raced across the central belt to meet Tim and Steve at Stereo for a few drinks and a good gossip session. We're all freelancers who know well the taste of Auntie's Milk. It's plentiful and nutritious but leaves a nasty sour residue in the mouth... which I washed away with G&T's. Later that night we met German, Jamie, Paul and Ross up at the studios for some red wine.

Saturday:
Got up at midday. Went to town for some half-hearted Xmas shopping and general people watching. Then we supped on mulled wine at the Xmas market at St Enoch's, before heading through some horrible, smelly cocktail bars (namely, the Corinthian and November) to sneer at the sequinned office parties and sweaty, white shirted men. We ended up at the Art Bar for some cheap tapas, watching it morph from an empty, early evening dyke hangout to salsa-loving old folks bar. It was a bit wierd. The walls were covered in framed art for sale and old bits of blue tack.
We decided to gatecrash the Art School student union but when we dropped our bags off at the studio we got a bit sidetracked with tea and conversation, and suddenly it was 2am. Again.

Sunday:
Got up at midday. Again. Cleaned the fish tank. Went for a long slow jog, 1 hour 21 minutes. Just trotted along the streets as the light slowly faded. Felt like I could continue for hours, until I got bored, stepped in dogshit and decided life on the road as an ultra runner would be overrated. So I'm stretching my dodgy right calf, and writing this instead.

Two weeks to go, people. Two weeks.